Ring of Fire
by Roony
Summary: Monster under bed. Something born dark. Hide.
1. Love is a Burning Thing

Ring of Fire

by: Roony

rating: T

genre: angst/general

summary: 'Monster under bed. Something born dark. Hide.'

'_I fell into a burning ring of fire_

_I went down down down _

_and the flames went higher _

_and it burns burns burns_

_the ring of fire_

_the ring of fire'_

----------------------

Love Is A Burning Thing 

Something wet, warm dripping down. Starts him, but doesn't wake him up. It splatters down on him… And again. His brow crinkles, his body reacting as his mind starts to wake up. What the hell…?

He knew what was there. She was always there. Forever screaming silently, though sometimes she was writhing and screaming. Blood. Flames.

Always there. On the ceiling.

But he opened his eyes. If he didn't, the dream wouldn't end. He knew that. He'd already tried. The dream had to end the same way every single time. He had to look up. He had to see it. Had to watch her burn. Then he'd wake up in a cold sweat. His heart would be pounding, his stomach nauseous. But it'd be over. Until the next time.

There she was. There was Jessica. That frozen look of surprise on her face. Her pink satin nightie stained with thick red blood. Her pose oddly doll like, with her arms and legs arranged, bent, for no real reason. Her blonde hair splayed out, looking oddly angelic. Especially with the bright flames emanating from them.

And Sam just watched. He sat there and watched, screaming and crying, just so fucking _sick_ of this. Tired of shouting his grief to a burning phantom, of trying to somehow save her in the dream, as if that would somehow undo it all, of swearing over and over again that he'd avenge her. It never did anything. Never stopped the dreams, never made him feel any better when he woke up.

Suddenly, he was waking up. Sitting up in bed, gasping in air. The room was dark. Not bright flames. No dripping blood. Still, he looked up just to be safe. Nothing. Just a blank ceiling. He sat back against the headboard and pillows. The dream was over. Again.

Something touched his arm. Sam visibly started, nearly jumping out of the bed. Christ!

"Goddamn it, Dean," Sam sighed, keeping the relieved laugh but still smirking. His older brother always got a kick out of getting the jump on him. But, Sam figured his dream must have woken Dean up. Dean was probably just making sure he was okay without showing it, as was Dean 'Manly Man' Winchester's way…

"Sam?"

A steel chill sliced through Sam. That was not his brother's voice. It wasn't his hand on Sam's arm either. Those hands were nimble, manicured. Those hands were…

"Sam?" Jessica asked again, worry lacing her voice. She leaned closer to him, her body pressing closer against his. The movement very natural. And why not? They were living together. Been sleeping together since…

Sam shook his head, jerking away from her. Her face became a mix of concern and hurt. Oh god. She was wearing that same satin nightie… Not the Smurf's shirt, but that same… And her hair, it was only slightly mussed from bed head. She was just as she'd been when…

"No…" Sam whispered, nearly begging, sliding away on the bed-_their_ bed… "No…" That look on her face.

"Sam, what's wrong?" she asked.

Sam closed his eyes and covered his ears. He didn't want to look at her, didn't want to hear her voice. God, this was just fucking cruel. "No…no… _Stop it_."

The scene started to fade out, the dorm room mixing and melding together into formless shapes… Dissolving away into nothing…

The only thing that was left, but echoing out into silence, was her voice. Calling his name.

---

Sam snapped his eyes open. He didn't move for a moment; didn't sit up startled like he usually did. He took in what he was seeing, making sure he hadn't fallen into another dream. No. This was real life. This was another motel room with its scratchy blankets and peeling paint and tiny little digital clock on the nightstand with red numbers (5:00 am). And there was Dean, lying flat on his stomach, a little bit of drool hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

Sam breathed. He just focused on that for a moment. Breathing. It tended to work in these kinds of situations. In, out. In, out. The rhythm worked as a sort of mediation technique or something like that and helped him calm down.

_Just breathe_, he told himself, _Clear your head_.

It hadn't been like that before. He'd had flashbacks to memories of Jess when she was alive… But interacting with a memory? That was different. And Sam didn't like it.

----

That night, the Winchesters were in another roadside bar. Same smoky atmosphere, same crappy country tunes, same creaky floor boards. Sam found himself nursing a beer, again. Dean was off on the other side of the bar, hustling pool. Again. And, given the raised voices and Dean started to hold the pool cue in a defensive manner, there was going to be a brawl. Again.

Sam gave a heavy sigh as he downed a third of the Budweiser at once. This was getting depressingly repetitive. Motel to motel, bar to bar, and a hell of a lot of nothing in between. That was the problem with the rolling plains of middle America; really, seeing them once was enough. Seeing them for your entire life, hours upon hours, with the same Metallica album playing over and over again was enough to make someone mail themselves to Antarctica, if but only to see something different.

And there hadn't been a single hunt to break the monotony, not for a few weeks. Which didn't really make any sense, now that Sam thought about it. There was always _something_ going on. Something going bump in the night, something paranormally slaughtering people because it got pissed off.

"Heh, heh, yeah, I'll keep that in mind!" Dean called over weakly to the glowering truckers. He turned his back on them, settling himself next to Sam, muttering, "Sons a' bitches."

"Don't be mad because you chickened out," Sam chided with a stony face as he motioned for another beer. It was his sixth one of the night, but who was counting? Wasn't like he was driving or anything.

"Dude, one of those guys threatened to chain me up between his cab and half back!" Dean shook his head. "That's not right." He turned to his brother hopefully. "Anything from Ellen?"

Sam shook his head as he took his fresh Bud. He'd called Ellen to see if anything was going on, any possible hunts. "Nothing. Whole countryside is supernaturally quiet. Totally dead."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Which means something HUGE is about to go down." He took a long gulp of his own beer.

"More or less," Sam agreed somberly.

There was a pause. Both brothers were thinking the same thing, but Dean had a feeling Sam wasn't about to say anything. So, he took the lead. It had to be said. "Think, maybe, that…that 'war' Dad talked about might be coming?"

Sam shrugged. "Hell if I know."

Dean cursed, slamming his fist on the bar. "Damn it. Isn't that something that the fucking Powers That Be or whatever should keep you updated on? Kind of important thing to be clued in on!"

"I'll suggest a weekly newsletter," Sam retorted.

Dean smirked. "Okay, well, I'm all for wandering around aimlessly, but seriously, this is getting ridiculous."

"Well, what're we supposed to do?" Sam asked, "I mean, what else do we _hunt_?"

Dean hesitated, taking a good long drink. "Well… There's one thing."

Sam caught his brother's tone and looked up. He and Dean looked each other in the eye for a moment. The look in Dean's eyes told Sam everything. Sam gave a mirthless laugh. He felt the six beers starting to actually kick in, but didn't acknowledge it. "Yeah. Yeah, that's a fantastic idea!"

"Come on, Sam, I'm serious," Dean said, swiping Sam's beer out of his hands. "I need you sober. Look, I mean it. There's one hunt that's never over."

Sam just shook his head, stood up, and walked away. Dean rolled his eyes in irritation, noting how his brother wobbled on his feet as he headed for the door.

"Just think about it!" Dean called after Sam outside in the parking lot.

"Hunt the Demon, Dean?" Sam yelled back, a humorless smile on his face. "With what? There's just one thing that'll kill it and it's gone!"

"I know," Dean said quietly, an undercurrent of anger in his voice. He really did not have to be reminded of Dad right now. "But look, Sam, we can't just throw in the towel!"

"Bullshit!" Sam spat, "Towel's thrown! Dad fucking threw it _for_ us-"

Anything Sam had left to say was cut off by a hard right hook from his brother. Dean didn't really realize what he'd done until Sam was doubled over on the gravel-covered ground. But he wasn't sorry.

Sam wiped away the blood from his lip. He stared at it for a moment as the realization of what he'd said washed over him. "Oh god," he said quietly, his throat tightening. "Fuck."

Instead of getting up, however, he just sat his ass on the cold ground. "I don't know what I'm doing, Dean," he said quietly, wiping some more of the blood away. "I'm supposed to fight in some fucking war. You might have to kill me? I mean what the _hell_! Didn't we do enough? Didn't we fucking lose _enough_?"

Dean took a heavy breath and let it out hard through his nostrils. He rubbed the back of his neck. Why did Sam have to be like this? He liked EMO Sam better than drunk angry Sam. EMO Sam didn't say what he was thinking. What they were both thinking but not saying. "Yeah," he agreed quietly, "Yeah, we have."

Sam closed his eyes and rested his head against the fender of the closest car. "I don't even know what the hell I _am_."

"Yeah you do," Dean assured.

Sam cracked an eye open. Damn, his head was starting to hurt. "And what am I?"

Dean reached down and grabbed Sam's arm, hauling him up. "The guy sitting on his ass in the parking lot. Don't ask stupid questions, Sammy." He steered Sam towards the Impala. It was time to get to bed. Enough talk of demons for tonight. "But, more importantly, you're my geeky brother. And together…" He unlocked the car. "We're the McGillicutties."

Sam frowned as he got in the car. "That didn't make any sense."

Dean paused as he started up the car. "Yeah, it didn't." He gave his head a little shake. "I must be drunker than I thought. Or out of my mind with boredom." He gave a rough sigh. "We need to do something. I don't care if it's cow tipping, but we have got to fucking busy ourselves."

"Cow tipping sounds fun."

Dean gave his brother a weary glance as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Yeah. Maybe next time."

There was a pause as they drove down the road.

"Dean," Sam said with quiet urgency.

Knowing without even looking what was wrong, Dean pulled over to the side of the road. Sam quickly jumped out so he could puke.

"Man, we have got to teach you to drink," Dean declared.

--------------------------------------------------------

_"Last chance."_

_A long driveway leading up to a blue two story house._

_"Last chance."_

_A balding middle aged man in glasses standing at a window in the house._

_"Last chance."_

_Children laughing._

_"Last chance."_

_Flames._

_"Last chance."_

----

Sam started awake, ghost flashes of the vision popping in front of his eyes. He swallowed as relief and excitement filled him. Relief because he hadn't had another Jessica dream. Excitement because he'd gotten a vision, which meant that they were _finally_ going to go on a hunt. Then guilt followed. People were in danger, apparently this was the 'last chance' to save them, and he was psyched as a kid on his birthday.

Dean mumbled as he started to wake up. He spotted his brother sitting up in bed, an all too familiar pose. A nightmare or a vision. Dean wasn't sure which one he dreaded more. The whole vision thing never really sat right with him. Whenever a vision was involved, things had a habit of ending up in the 'fucked up' category of things. But Dean didn't like Sam having nightmares either.

"Okay," he sighed as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "What's up?"

"Vision," Sam answered dully, throwing himself back against the pillows.

Dean grinned as he jumped out of bed and started pulling on some jeans over his boxers. "Thank god. I was seriously thinking we'd end up shooting rock salt at farm animals for entertainment."

--------------

Sadly, the first roadblock of the hunt became painfully clear within an hour of Dean and Sam hitting the road. They'd run from the roadside motel like bats out of hell, glad to finally have an actual goal. However, there was one rather important detail that they realized they hadn't quite obtained. A destination.

So, they'd ended up pulled over, wrestling with road maps in the cramped Impala.

"Dean, where are we? Do you even know where we are?" Sam asked.

"Where we are?" Dean said it like he'd only just realized why they were by the side of the road. "Gee, actually, Sammy, I think I should level with you." His voice got very serious. "Truth is, I've only been looking at these roadmaps for the pretty colors." He concluded with a deadpan look of 'are you fucking _kidding_ me?'

"Sorry," Sam said, messing with the map. How did you fold these things again? This one looked like it was from 1979. No, wait, '77. "I'm just nervous. I want to get there in time." He added in defeat, "Wherever 'there' is."

"Doesn't make sense," Dean grumbled, "You usually get locations plugged in." He tossed his own map away in disgust, grabbing a new one. "Anything else in the vision that gave you a clue where we're supposed to go?"

"No," Sam answered, shaking his head. "Two story blue house."

"Yeah, wow, that makes it easy," Dean drawled sarcastically.

"Just kept saying the same thing over and over again," Sam said, almost to himself. "'Last chance', 'last chance'."

"Sam."

At his name, Sam looked over at his brother. Dean held up a map, pointing to a specific point. When he read the location marker, Sam smirked.

"Son of a bitch."

Last Chance, a small town in Colorado.

------------


	2. It Makes a Fiery Ring

It Makes a Fiery Ring

"Sam. Sam…"

She said his name teasingly, almost in a sing-song way. He kept his eyes shut. He really did not need this right now.

"Come on, Sam," she laughed, lightly hitting his shoulder.

Her laugh was what made him give in. He opened his eyes and there she was. Not on the ceiling, but right here, in front of him. Sitting on the bed.

This wasn't a memory. This was something new.

"Jess," he said her name so quietly, so softly.

"I'm here," she said quietly, a small smile on her face. "I'm right here, Sam."

Her hand was on his arm. He took it, held it. It felt so warm, so real. "I was going to ask you to marry me," he said quietly, "I was looking at rings. Thinking…thinking about if you'd say 'yes'."

She stroked his hair. "I know."

He raised his eyes to her. "Why are you here?" he asked. His voice was strange; suspicious and sad. He wanted this to end.

Jess gave a small frown and put her other hand over his. "I'll always be here, Sam."

Sam shook his head, fighting back tears. "No. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But I…" His voice started to crack. "I moved on Jess. I'm after the thing that murdered you, I'm going to kill it. And I love you, but…" He swallowed and held her hands. "But you need to go."

She let go, pulled her hands away. Her face went blank. "You want me to go?"

"You can't stay here," Sam said, letting his tears start to flow. "You can't stay with me. I'm sorry." She couldn't haunt him like this. He couldn't take it. And if it came to having to burn Jessica's bones… Sam knew he just might stop hunting for good, the Demon and the war be damned.

Jessica smiled and reached forward, holding his face in her hands. Sam closed his eyes, bringing his own hand up to hers to try to pull them away. But he couldn't. God, if she would just stop _touching _him.

"I'm sorry," he said again, "I knew it was coming. I knew what would happen, but I didn't believe it. I could've stopped it…"

"Shh…" she whispered, stroking his tears away with her thumb.

She leaned forward and kissed him. It was so real, so familiar, so missed. Sam wanted to kiss her back, wanted to push her away, wanted to scream. But he didn't, couldn't. He stayed still.

"It's okay," she soothed quietly. She looked into his eyes. Smiled. "I got in the way."

Sam frowned and felt a pressure building in his chest. 'Got in the way'…

"What?"

She was gone. Everything was black.

---

Sam woke up with his face pressed up against the Impala glass, ACDC on the stereo, but not blasting as usual. Sam realized Dean must've turned in down more than usual so he could keep sleeping. Sam sat up in his seat, feeling ill. They were headed to Last Chance still. They weren't yet in Colorado, but Dean had sworn to make good time. And they had, considering that Dean had miraculously cut the 1,525 mile drive down to a 16 hour drive.

"So," Dean said from his seat, his eyes on the road, "Are we starting to learn why we leave heavy drinking to big brother? Huh?" He shot Sam a glance and frowned. "You okay, dude? Look a little green."

"Fine," Sam brushed off. He closed his eyes. Breathe. Breathe. _Anything_ to get Jessica out of his head.

"Sure?" Dean asked uncertainly, keeping his eyes glued forward.

Sam caught Dean's jumpy demeanor. "Did I say something while I was sleeping, Dean?"

"No," Dean said a little too quickly, "Why? Worried I overheard you talking dirty to Lara Croft or something?" Dean forced a short laugh at his own joke. Sam stayed quiet.

"I dreamed about Jess, Dean," Sam stated evenly.

"Did ya…" Dean said quietly, biting his lip. It was supposed to be a question, but it wasn't.

"Yeah," Sam sighed, rubbing his forehead. He had to stop falling asleep in the car; his head was killing him, probably from leaning it against the window for a couple of hours.

"You…you wanna talk about it?" Dean offered, trying to keep his tone casual. He shifted in his seat and moved his gaze to his side window. Sam spotted his fingers gripping the wheel rather tight.

"You hate talking about stuff," Sam pointed out.

Dean looked at his brother. "Figure I'd make an exception, if you, ya know, wanna-"

"No," Sam cut off, turning back to the window. "It's okay."

Dean didn't believe his brother for a second. Talking was Sam's thing. He always forced his sappy sharing attitude on Dean. Why wasn't he jumping at the offer like chick offered chocolate?

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Sam insisted. He didn't want to talk about Jess, think about Jess, or dream about Jess. Only two of those things could he really control.

---

After a solid day of driving, the Winchesters finally pulled into a motel once they'd crossed the state border into Colorado. They'd get to Last Chance in the morning. Sam had said that if the situation couldn't have waited, he would be made aware of it. Since he didn't feel the sort of pull to get there immediately like he had in the past, he felt whatever waited for them in Last Chance was not an emergency. Yet.

"Just kind of weird, isn't it?" Dean said after they'd settled in the room. He was sharpening his knives and daggers on the bed.

"What is?" Sam asked. He was cleaning the guns.

The brothers had agreed on the necessity of preparation on this one, since they didn't really know what to expect. They also were subconsciously psyching themselves up. The period of dull, mindless traveling had really started to wear on them.

"Just sayin', I mean, you getting a vision for Colorado all the way in North Carolina," Dean explained, "Real long distance call, isn't it?"

Sam shrugged. He'd wondered about that too. "I dunno. Maybe it's really important we get there. Maybe with nothing else really going on it showed up on my psychic radar more than something else."

Dean nodded but didn't really seem convinced. He didn't say anymore though; he kept to his work.

-----

Sam woke up later that night, for no real reason. He hadn't dreamed of Jess (thank god) or had another vision. He'd just opened his eyes and there he was. He glanced at the nightstand clock. Midnight. He'd only gotten to sleep two hours ago.

His gaze moved to the other bed. Dean's bed. Which was empty. Sam stared confusedly at the ruffled comfort and sheets. Where the hell was Dean?

The sound of running water and the light beyond the closed bathroom door answered him. Sam breathed in relief. For a second there he'd been a little paranoid. He could just hear Dean if he told him how worried he'd been at first.

'What, Sammy,' Dean would say, 'You gonna check under the beds and closet every time we stop at a motel now? In case you haven't been paying attention, _I'm_ the one saving _your_ ass all the time.'

Sam gave a quiet laugh to pretend-Dean's remarks and settled himself back under the covers.

---------

Something warm and wet was dripping down on him. Then again and again.

Sam swallowed. "I thought we went over this," he grumbled to himself, trying to pull a Dean and use humor to mask the fear. Couldn't he go one night without this? Without seeing Jess on that ceiling?

He had to open his eyes sometime. With another drop of blood falling on his cheek, the dream seemed to agree, egging him on. The sooner he saw it, the sooner the dream would end, the sooner he could get on with his day.

So Sam opened his eyes.

But Jess wasn't the one on the ceiling. Instead, it was Dean's unseeing eyes, Dean's open mouth. Dean's blood dripping on him.

Sam just sat there in shock for a moment, staring at his brother's dead, mutilated and burning body. Then he started to scream. No words, just screaming on and on as the flames spread over the ceiling. He gradually moved to words. 'No' over and over and over. Then Dean's name.

But he stayed put. Screaming and crying, he stayed put as the flames washed over the motel room and licked at his back.

"Dean! DEAN!"

---

Sam burst into consciousness, leapt out of bed and headed straight for the bathroom. He didn't look anywhere near the ceiling or his brother's bed. He couldn't stand to. He just sprinted to the small little bathroom , skidded to his knees, and emptied his stomach into the toilet bowl, tears streaming down his face. When he couldn't vomit up anything more, he dry heaved, mumbling, "Oh god, oh god, oh god…"

When he was completely drained of energy, he forced himself to stop. He rested his head on the cool edge of the toilet seat, having already thrown up enough to ignore being ill at the thought of it. He took in air in short quick gasps. If he gulped in air he'd only get sicker. He ignored the wet salty streaks on his face. He didn't care. The vision of Dean nailed to the ceiling would not leave his mind.

"Sammy, what the hell?"

Sam startled and slid backward on the tile floor at his brother's voice and his hand on his back. Dean stared down at his brother, seriously freaked by this behavior.

"Sam, it's me, it's Dean," he assured, "It's your brother."

Dean had awoken a few minutes ago to the sounds of his brother having another nightmare. Such a situation was all too familiar for him at this point. He'd stayed put, just listening to his brothers mumbles and slight writhing. He'd actually gotten up when Sam had suddenly bolted for the bathroom. He didn't have a fucking clue what the hell was going on. This wasn't normal with Sam's typical PTSD episodes or visions. This was different. He just knew something had scared the shit out of his brother, and really, that and how to stop it were all that mattered.

Sam sat with his back flat against the wall, feeling dazed and panicked. He tried to talk but couldn't find words, and ended up sort of babbling before he took a deep breath to try and calm himself. Jesus, he probably seemed like a lunatic to Dean.

"Sam," Dean said slowly but definitely worried, "You okay?" Well that was a stupid question if there ever was one. "What happened? What'd you see?"

Sam didn't say anything, he just buried his face in his hands, trying to get the tears to stop, trying to blot out the image of the vision. This was his worst nightmare. Seeing Dean on the ceiling. He'd always feared it since Jessica's death, since finding out that his visions came true. And now it had finally happened.

For Dean, his brother curling in on himself more when he tried to talk to him was not a good sign. He crouched down in front of his brother and yanked his arms away from his face.

"Sam! Listen to me, dammit!" he shouted, trying to get his brother to snap out of it.

Sam kept his eyes closed. He breathed. Then he opened his eyes, looked into Dean's.

"This is real," he stated, though it ended almost in a question.

"Yeah," Dean said, his tone softening, "Yeah. This is real, Sam."

Sam smiled crazily, giving an odd combination of a laugh, a sob, and a sigh. He relaxed. Dean released him. His arms limply fell down to his sides. The brothers just sat there for a minute, Sam breathing and Dean silently observing Sam, just in case he'd hurt himself somehow.

"Sam," Dean said after a few minutes, "What the fuck happened?"

His voice wasn't angry, but stern. He didn't want Sam bullshitting him this time about being 'fine'.

Sam swallowed a sob, pushing it back down, trying to drown his panic. "I saw you…" He looked away, fixing on a random tile on the floor. "I saw you on the ceiling, Dean."

Dean visibly stilled, his back straightening with the significance of his brother's statement.

Sam didn't go into much detail, but he outlined the dream. How disturbingly similar it was to the way Jessica had died. He didn't puke or cry again, and actually managed to stay pretty calm. Dean hardly believed he was able to, but then again he himself kept his face blank for most of it.

"But I'm fine," Dean said, more to assure his brother than to make an observation, "I'm all right, Sam."

"For now," Sam stated quietly.

"Yeah, Sam, being cynical's really gonna sort this out," Dean scoffed as he started pulling on his jeans.

Sam frowned at his brother's actions. "Where're you going? It's three in the morning."

Dean gave a nod to assert that he did indeed know the time. "Way I figure it, there's no way in hell either of us is getting anymore sleep." He started pulling on his shoes, resolutely tying the laces. "So, I have a pretty novel idea."

Sam blinked and rubbed his eyes, fatigue starting to wash over him. "Cow tipping?"

Dean's brow furrowed at that. He gave Sam a weird look. "Dude. Why are you so anxious to knock some cows around?" He gave a shake of the head as Sam smirked. "No, man, we are going to the smokiest, smelliest, dirtiest hole in the wall we can find…" He finished the other shoe and stood up straight, as if to announce a grand master plan. He grinned, then gave his declaration. "And we are getting _smashed_."

Sam sighed and fell back across the mattress the wrong way, his feet flat on the floor. "Yes, because before you get set in fire, one should always be sure to soak their body tissue in scotch."

Dean had to laugh at that one. Still, he lightly hit Sam's foot. "Come on; the schnapps are calling our names!"

Sam just shook his head. "No."

Dean frowned. "No?"

"Nope."

"Sam, you just saw my pretty face get burned up. Not so great for you and really really not so fantastic for me. Sounds to me like an ideal time to go out and drown ourselves under the table," Dean reasoned.

Sam shook his head. "Can't. We're on a mission. Can't play superheroes if we're hung over," he pointed out.

Dean gave a frustrated huff as he pulled his jacket off and flopped back onto his own bed. "You're such a dork."

"Shut up," Sam handed back in a half-hearted breath.

"Don't be a bitch," Dean grunted back.

Sam smiled to himself. "Yeah, and together we're the McGillicuties."

---


End file.
